


Surprise

by TheShitCook



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Presents, Birthday Sex, Daryl deserves a happy birthday, Desus lives!, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Lovey-Dovey, M/M, Paul sucks at baking, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but he tries anyway, cake time, for some reason i'm really into cake fics right now...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 13:56:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14166354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShitCook/pseuds/TheShitCook
Summary: One of the most basic tropes you can come up with for fanfiction prompts. It's Daryl's birthday, and he's never had a good one. But Paul is going to change that.





	Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with more cake fics! Cake just brings everybody together, doesn't it? Please enjoy some sweet fluffiness!

     Jesus pinches the bridge of his nose as he leans his back against the kitchen counter. The kitchen itself is a mess. Four large mixing bowls are scattered about, measuring cups and spoons piled in the sink next to a whisk and a couple of wooden spoons. There’s batter dripping down the edge of the counter and sifted cocoa powder on the floor. Not bad for a first attempt though. Especially considering all the substitutions he’s had to make. Applesauce for eggs, olive oil and more apple sauce where he didn’t have butter, powdered milk instead of buttercream…

The strawberries are cut and rinsed, sitting in a strainer in the clean side of the sink while the cake bakes. The bowl of vanilla icing he’s made is covered by plastic wrap and sitting in the fridge, next to the whipped cream that he’s hoping while stiffen up a bit with the cold. It’s a bit harder to make homemade whipped cream without an electric mixer. Not like he couldn’t have used one, the house has power, but he didn’t want to use any that wasn’t necessary.

Fifteen more minutes. Jesus sighs and looks at the clock sitting on top of a short bookshelf in the living room. Two more hours until Daryl gets home. Two more hours to let the cake cool, ice it, let it set in the fridge, and then decorate it. Not to mention cleaning the kitchen.

It’s Daryl’s birthday. It’s taken a lot to figure that fact out. First, there was finding a working phone and getting it charged enough to double check the date on a calendar app. Then there was grilling Daryl about which month he was born in, and then narrowing it down to a day. Unfortunately, the specific days changed from time to time. Apparently, nobody had cared enough while he was growing up to celebrate his birthday. Merle had given it a shot from time to time, but was usually too busy hanging out with his druggie buddies to plan a real celebration.

Not like the world’s shittiest chocolate cake and a tank top that says, “FUCK SLEEVES” is much better. To be fair, Daryl hadn’t given him any time to prepare. He’d finally admitted that his birthday was a week away when Jesus had draped himself over his back and hummed the word “please” in his ear for a solid three minutes. So, he spent the brunt of his next run frantically searching for a decent present and the ingredients for a cake.

Daryl hadn’t seemed suspicious that he planned to do something for him. Jesus had worked hard to appear non cholent about it though. “Well then, we’ll have to have super special birthday sex next week” was all he’d said about it, then he hadn’t breached the subject since.

Jesus wishes he could do more. But Daryl’s uncomfortable with large, social situations, so a party’s completely out of the question. He never asks for anything or hints at needing anything, so picking out a present was nearly impossible. He can’t take him out to the movies or a fancy dinner date like he would have before the end of the damn world. Not that he would have had the chance to meet Daryl if the world hadn’t ended, so he’s not complaining all that much.

So, here he is, cleaning his kitchen to hide any evidence of cake-making from his boyfriend who is soon to be home from his hunt. He’s got a kitchy, cake-scented candle set out on the kitchen counter as well. He plans to light it up before Daryl gets home so that any hint of baking is masked. The timer on the oven finally goes off and Jesus jumps to pull it out. He’s so rushed to get the pans out that he forgets to slip on his oven mitts and burns the palms of his hands.

“Shit!” He curses and drops them back on the racks. They can sit there for another minute while he runs his hand under the sink. He grunts painfully and turns the water to as cold as it will go, then he quickly puts on his oven mitts and yanks the cakes out. He drops them both on the counter and throws the oven mitts back to the side, turning the oven off and sticking his hand back under the cool stream. He grits his teeth and shuts the sink off, bolting to the bathroom to find the burn cream and bandages. It takes him longer than he would have liked to dress the wounds, but the cake is probably cool enough now to remove them from the pans. He finishes off wrapping his hands and hurries back, tripping and smacking his forehead on the archway that leads to their kitchen. He curses again and rubs at the sore spot with the back of his injured hand.

“Paul?” Jesus goes still and his eyes flick to the door, where Daryl’s quickly kicking off his shoes to run over to him. Shit.

“You- you’re not supposed to be home yet.” Jesus stutters out, and he hopes that he doesn’t take that the wrong way. Like Jesus doesn’t want him there. Though technically, right now, he doesn’t. The cake isn’t nearly complete and his present isn’t even wrapped, thrown over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

Daryl’s hands are suddenly on him, thumb rubbing over his forehead while the other tilts his chin upward. Jesus sighs dejectedly and starts to drop his own hand when Daryl notices the bandages. He grabs his wrists and looks between them and Paul’s face incredulously.

“What the hell man?” He runs his fingers over the wounds and Jesus hisses, but he doesn’t flinch away. “What where ya doin’?” Daryl inquires and moves his hands back to Paul’s wrists. He brings his fingers up to his lips and kisses them gently, barely a brush.

“Oh, you know me, just committing some light arson around town.”

“An’ yer head?” Daryl kisses said place as he speaks, the red mark now prominent on his pale skin. Jesus chuckles nervously and shrugs.

“Headbanging. Got a bit too into the music.”

“Ya aren’t listenin’ ta music. Watched ya hit yer head, moron.” Daryl chastises him and Jesus smiles fondly. He’s glad Daryl doesn’t feel the need to walk on eggshells around him and is now comfortable enough to bitch at him when he’s acting like an idiot. Like running into a wall, or foregoing oven mitts for bare, fucking hands.

“You’re early…”

“Ya, an’ thank god for it. Yer a mess.” Daryl chuckles and pulls him into a hug. He looks over his shoulder into the kitchen and sees the full cake pans and strawberries. His grip on Paul tightens when he realizes what he’s looking at and he sighs through his nose. His heart swells uncomfortably in his chest and he tries not to think back to all the half-assed birthday celebrations he’s had up until this point, curtesy of Merle and his mom. “Ya didn’t have-”

“I wanted to.” Jesus interrupts him. “I really, really wanted to Daryl.” He reassures and Daryl holds him tighter still. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you something better, I just- you deserve something really special but I don’t know how to make cake and I had to go to Carol for help on substituting ingredients and I didn’t just wanna get you hunting stuff cause you get that on your own but-” Daryl interrupts Paul’s rambling by kissing him. He cups the back of his head as he tilts into it and he strains to hold back the threatening flood of emotion. He knows Paul wouldn’t judge him for crying, but he’s still not exactly comfortable with doing it in front of people. Not even the man he fully plans on spending the rest of his life with.

“It’s amazing…” Daryl whispers between kisses and Jesus huffs.

“It’s just a cake… probably not even gonna be good. Like I said… Carol had to help me… and we’re low on eggs… right now… so it’s going to be a chocolate… and applesauce… cake… with vanilla icing… and strawberries. Also… really runny whipped cream… it’s just a mess.” Daryl kisses him between words and pulls back sometime during his rant to get a better look at his flushed red cheeks and worried eyes. His boyfriend, the love of his life, is a flustered mess over being caught trying to make him a surprise cake. The most domestic and endearing gesture he’s been a part of… ever. He feels a lump in his throat, not unlike a boulder.

He smiles. I mean, really smiles. He can probably count on his hands the number of times he’s smiled so wide over the last few years, maybe over his entire lifetime. His cheeks pinch up and his teeth are showing as Jesus goes silent, staring up at him in awe. Daryl, honest to god, giggles. A short, happy chuckle that surprises even himself as he leans down to kiss Paul again.

“You like it…” Jesus sighs in relief against Daryl’s lips and Daryl nods, palm caressing his jaw and throat lovingly.

“I really, really do.” Daryl reiterates Paul’s earlier insistence and Paul wraps his arms around Daryl’s shoulders to deepen the kiss. He pulls away before he gets too carried away and looks at the tin containers, now completely cooled, sitting on the counter.

“I should finish those, so you can eat your birthday cake.”

“Let me help.” Daryl insists and Jesus shakes his head.

“You’re not supposed to make your own cake.”

“Want ta. With you. Never made one before.” Daryl drags Paul into the kitchen by his forearm and starts sifting through the drawers until he finds a flat tool he can use to pull the cakes out of their tins. “’Sides, yer hurt, I should help.” Jesus looks down at his hands and sneers disdainfully. It’s his own stupid fault he can’t finish Daryl’s surprise, though it’s not much of a surprise anymore- “Hey!” Daryl interrupts his train of thought and kisses him on the tip of his nose. “I wanna help, let me?”

Jesus presses his lips together tightly and nods, shouldering open the fridge and pulling out the icing. The bowl is cool in his hand as he places it on the counter. He sets the whipped cream bowl next to it and looks over to see Daryl’s already, if a bit crudely, turned the cakes out onto the counter. Daryl looks at him imploringly and Jesus smiles and starts to direct him.

In the end, Jesus thinks it looks beautiful. The icing between layers of cake is a bit uneven and the whipped cream isn’t really holding shape. The strawberry placement is haphazard and the top layer of icing is messy and jagged. But he and Daryl made it together. Daryl kept stealing kisses from him as he tried to instruct on what he wanted done and Jesus kept letting himself get distracted staring at Daryl’s flushed, concentrated face. He’s seen him make a similar face while he’s gutting a squirrel or rolling a cigarette, tongue poking out and eyes narrowed. Adorable.

There’s a bit of icing leftover and Jesus smears a spoonful of it down the side of Daryl’s throat when he’s not looking. Daryl flinches at the coldness of it, but soon melts into the feeling of Paul’s tongue lapping it up. Jesus moves Daryl’s hair out of the way to suck just below his jaw and the older man groans. The sound sends a shiver down Paul’s spine.

Daryl is smiling triumphantly at their creation as he places it in the fridge to set and Jesus motions towards his present still hanging off the dining room chair. Daryl tilts his head when he sees it, not unlike a curious dog, and picks it off. He holds it in front of his face and snorts, face flushing red again. He sets it back down and, for a moment, Paul worries that he doesn’t like it. That thought, however, is stomped out when Daryl tugs the hem of his shirt over his head, foregoing unbuttoning it and tossing it to the floor. Jesus chokes on his own breath as Daryl’s toned, muscular chest is revealed. He ogles him blatantly and he swears that Daryl is stretching more than he needs to as he puts on his new shirt. The muscles in his arms bulge as he moves and Jesus bites his lower lip as the thin fabric covers him.

“If I’d given you nothing, would you be wearing that right now too?” Jesus teases and Daryl smirks, sauntering over to his boyfriend and placing his hands on Paul’s hips. He massages the skin that’s poking out from his loose t-shirt with his thumbs and Jesus traces his fingertips over Daryl’s forearms. He lets them rest on his wrists and looks up at him with a cocky grin. “Got you a pair of pants too, but you’re gonna have to take those ones off first. And everything else. Including the new shirt.” Daryl snorts at his shameless flirting and kisses him again. He’s slow, savoring every second of it as Jesus hums happily against his lips.

“I love you.” Daryl grumbles as he kisses him and Jesus smiles again, broad and cheeky. Paul flinches when his fingers sting with fresh pain from the burns and Daryl pulls out of the kiss. He looks down at his boyfriend worriedly and grabs his wrists. He drapes Paul’s arms over his shoulders so that his palms aren’t pressing against anything, fingertips limp against his shoulder blades. Daryl wraps his arms around Paul’s waist, gripping at his loose shirt and soothing one of his palms over his back. Jesus can’t remember the last time he’s felt so completely covered. Safe and warm in strong arms and pressed against a bulky, barrel of a torso. Daryl kisses him again and Jesus urges closer, sighing into his mouth.

One of Daryl’s hands wander downward to squeeze his ass through his cargos. Jesus chuckles and grinds his hips forward. Daryl groans, throaty and loud against his mouth. The smaller man tightens his grip and Daryl pushes him up against the counter.

“Do I get ta open any _more_ presents?” Daryl teases and Jesus hums thoughtfully.

“Mmmm, I think I had one more planned...”

“Oh yeah?” Daryl lilts and Jesus nods as he trails kisses down his jaw. Daryl tilts his head to give him better access and Paul scrapes his teeth over the slowly heating flesh. The thick column of his throat is hard under his lips and he feels Daryl swallow against his tongue. Daryl massages at the dimples just above Paul’s ass with his thumbs and the smaller man keens. His skin flushes under the attention and he can already feel a low hum of arousal sting at his nerves.

“Mhmm… what do you want?” Jesus keeps his voice low and raspy as he presses his body firmly against Daryl’s. Daryl groans and sneaks his hand under Paul’s waistbands, bypassing his pants and boxers to get a handful of his bare ass. Paul whines and grinds forward, so Daryl does the same with his other hand, massaging his cheeks and feeling the fullness of them against his palms. They’re warm and soft in his grasp and Daryl knows he could probably spend hours just holding Paul like this. His face buried in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of his hair and his skin. Slight, warm body wrapped around him.

“Fuck…” Daryl growls and removes his hands so he can pick Jesus up by his thighs, seating him on the counter and bracketing his arms around him. Daryl recaptures Paul’s lips with his own and grins as his beard tickles and scratches the sensitive skin on his chin. He stays like this for a while. Hands wandering over Paul’s thighs and mouth working over his lips and throat until his jaw aches. He doesn’t stop there though. He’s too drunk on the way that Jesus is sighing and twisting in his hold. He sucks bruises into his lower throat and collarbone, dozens of small marks adding up quickly and making the flesh tender.

“Daryl, please…” Paul whines and Daryl shakes his head, not nearly finished working him up yet. He wants to make Paul into an absolute mess. Needy and hot, pliable in his large, grizzly hands. Paul trembles when Daryl’s hands traverse particularly high on his thighs, massing the thick, muscled flesh on their way up. Daryl does the same for Jesus as the young man did for him earlier, grabbing the tub of icing and rucking up Paul’s loose shirt. He shoves the hem of it between Paul’s teeth and smears the icing over Paul’s chest. He licks it off slowly, flat of his tongue dragging over the heated skin as he sucks on one of his nipples. “Daryl-!”

“Tastes good…” Daryl teases as he grazes his teeth over Paul’s chest. Paul inches closer to him, wrapping his legs around Daryl’s hips and digging his heels into his ass cheeks. “Touchin’ ya, like this…” Daryl continues and he’s half serious half goading. He really could do this forever, hands and mouth roaming his body, no rush to go any further save for when his body finally screams at him for it. There’s a dull ache slowly building in his bones at this point, not that it ever fully goes away, but it’s still mild enough that he can push it aside in favor of working up his lover. Since being with Paul, he’s never felt so active, so alive. His nerves tingle and his guts stir whenever he thinks about the smaller man. His hair, his hands, his _eyes._ God, he will never get enough of his eyes. Big and colourful, dewy and so full of emotion.

Daryl’s not good with words, never has been, but he could go on and on about Paul’s eyes. The way his brows scrunch slightly and his left eye twitches minutely whenever he hears something he dislikes. Like he’s trying to hide his disdain, though Daryl can always read him now that he’s gotten to know his mannerisms. He’s always twitching impatiently, angrily, when he’s speaking with Gregory. At times, he does it when he’s talking with Alex back at Hilltop. The nurse that he used to have a thing with. That used to bother Daryl, and he still puffs up his chest a little whenever the blonde gets too close to his boyfriend. He thinks that he’ll always be protective of him like that, it’s not like him to back down from a challenger.

Daryl particularly likes it when those eyes are rolling into the back of his skull. Irises slowly disappearing as Daryl fucks into him slowly, deeply. His back arching and thighs seizing as he comes across his abdomen and howls in pleasure. The thought makes his mind blur and his blood surge in his veins. His hips twitch forward eagerly and Paul responds in kind, arms tightening around his neck and mouth searching out Daryl’s to kiss him desperately. Paul’s breath is warm as it mixes with his, short puffs dancing across his skin as he laps at his mouth with his tongue.

“Bed, Daryl.” Paul commands and his voice is hoarse and desperate. His hands itch to touch, grit through the pain and grab Daryl by his collar, shake him until he caves in and fucks him. He gives in eventually; the burns aren’t severe enough to cause more than a pinching ache as consequence and the look on Daryl’s face when he rucks up his shirt is completely worth it. Paul runs his hands up Daryl’s bare back and presses his swelling cock against his belly. He can feel the old, healed scars under his touch. The muscles of Daryl’s back jump and twitch, molding like putty under Paul’s gentle caress, the heat of his palms bleeding through the bandages.

Daryl snarls in an almost animalistic way as he feels Paul’s hard length drag at his abdomen. It makes his own cock twitch with need and press up against his zipper insistently. Daryl tries to tamper down his arousal and focus on making Paul squirm, but his muscles are already bunching with anticipation and desire. He doesn’t know why he tries so hard to resist what his body craves, resist Paul. Up until the very last moment, he always tries to hold out. Then Paul does something with his tongue or his mouth or his hands and Daryl just _caves._ Which is exactly what’s happening right now as Daryl urgently presses his erection at the edge of the counter.

“Now, babe!” Paul pleads and Daryl finally gives in, scooping him up and carrying him up the stairs as he gnaws at his throat. Daryl’s still snarling and grunting like an absolute beast as he sucks another hicky at the tender skin just below Paul’s ear. It’s warm and soft and he laps at the wound after he’s done turning the pale flesh into contrasting reds and purples. Jesus grinds his ass against Daryl’s now aching erection and Daryl barely makes it through the archway of their bedroom, extremely tempted to just fuck the smaller man up against the wall. He voices such temptation as they cross his mind, purring lowly into Paul’s ear.

“You don’t calm down an’ I’m gonna hafta rail you right inta tha drywall.” Daryl gives Paul’s ass another squeeze and the smaller man moans, thighs instinctually spreading as best they can while still in Daryl’s hold. “God, yer like a bitch ‘n heat.” Daryl gasps incredulously and almost trips when he finally makes it to the edge of the bed, his shins pressing against the mattress. He lets go of Paul so that he can drop back into the sheets, though the smaller man refuses to lighten his grip on Daryl’s back. Daryl’s falls over him, arms bent as they cage around Paul’s head. Daryl stares at him, predatory and lustful before he swoops down and sucks Paul’s lower lip between his teeth. Paul keens and scrapes his fingernails gently down Daryl’s back.

“Fuck me Daryl, Jesus Christ!” Paul grits out and Daryl chuckles. He tugs at the band of Paul’s cargos and slowly drags the zipper down it’s track. Paul whines as he does this, hips jittering and sweat forming at his hairline. He garbles out another plea and Daryl slips his hand into his boxers, palming at the throbbing erection barely concealed beneath. It’s hard and long in his grasp, similar to his own but more curved and a bit thinner. He wants to wrap his mouth around it. Feel the weight of it on his tongue as he takes it as deep into his throat as he can. At the same time, he wants to feel it sinking inside of him. Inch after torturous inch until Paul bottoms out and fucks him slowly and sweetly. Making love. That’s what Paul’s always calls it.

Daryl runs his thumb over the swollen head, hand traveling downward from there so that his fingertips can press teasingly against Paul’s rim. Paul’s arms shoot behind his head and grip desperately at the bedsheets. The throbbing pain in his hands long forgotten as Daryl toys with him. He’s dragged out the foreplay for so long now that his cock feels like it’s about to burst. His balls are drawn up and tight against the base of his shaft and he’s practically stained the front of his boxers with precum, which Daryl is now spreading over the near purple head. Daryl brings his other hand into play, one working the shaft while the other travels back down to his hole.

“Want ya ta come.” Daryl commands and Jesus yelps as Daryl sinks one of his fingers inside, cock pulsing and stomach muscles tightening. There’s no lube yet but it’s only one finger so the stretch isn’t too uncomfortable. It doesn’t even register when Daryl curls it inward and presses on his prostate. He twists and his entire body convulses as he comes in his boxers, thick strings of come thoroughly soaking him. It’s warm as it dribbles down his shaft and pools between his ass cheeks. Daryl chuckles raunchily and pulls his hand free, leaving Paul a panting and over sensitized mess on the bed. He starts to pull at his belt as he takes in the sight.

“God, yer beautiful like this.” Daryl muses as he finally yanks the leather strap free, dropping it to the carpeted floor and practically tearing his fly down. He palms at his cock briefly and moans, imagining his turgid shaft buried inside his lover. Paul swallows thickly and starts tugging his own pants down. Daryl helps him as he kicks them off so that he’s now bare from the waist down. Jesus yanks his own shirt off while Daryl’s toes off his socks and finally drops his jeans and boxers, opting to leave his new shirt on. Jesus snorts when he realizes that Daryl’s not going to take it off and rolls over onto his stomach as he searches for the lube. Daryl takes the opportunity to spread his cheeks wide and lean in to press his tongue against Paul’s rim.

“Fucks sake Daryl…” Paul curses, like it’s some great inconvenience, though he’s already leaning in to the touch, hips twitching and arousal pulling at his lower abdomen. Jesus moans when he finally gets a hold of their bottle of lubricant just as Daryl’s tongue breaches his entrance. He gasps for breath as he reaches back, tapping the bottle on Daryl’s shoulder. Daryl takes it and pops it open, maybe a bit louder than he needed to just to further excite the younger man. He pours a liberal amount into his palm and tosses it to the side, rubbing his hands together before playing with his cheeks again. Daryl’s always had some damn fixation with his ass, not that he’s really complaining. The way he massages him is intoxicating. The lube makes his palms feel warm and wet, his tongue intensifying the feeling.

He adds fingers slowly, making sure he’s thoroughly stretched by each one and scissoring them to make them burn pleasurably. Jesus writhes on the sheets and pushes himself up onto his elbows so that he can look over his shoulder at his lover. Daryl’s now using his free hand to pump his own cock, covering it in slick and relieving some of the built tension. Precum is now leaking from the slit and down the shaft, dribbling over his fingers as he works over it. Jesus suddenly yelps when Daryl pulls his tongue out of him and flips him onto his back, his hair falls around his head like a soft, slightly tangled halo. Paul groans as he gets a better look at Daryl’s turgid shaft, hard and intimidating. He spreads his thighs wider and Daryl grunts.

He keeps his hand wrapped around the base of his shaft as he guides the tip to Paul’s rim. He slowly pushes inside as he looks into Paul’s eyes intensely, love and lust mingling into a colour that makes the fuzzy feeling in his abdomen throb. Jesus doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to seeing that look in Daryl’s eyes, only ever directed at him, maybe in his entire life. He wraps one of his legs over Daryl’s shoulder so that the older man can get a better angle. Daryl sighs appreciatively and grabs him around his upper calf to keep it there, palm warm and strong where it grips him. Jesus pushes himself up onto his elbows so he can watch as Daryl sinks his cock into him, inch after throbbing inch until he bottoms out and his hips are pressed snug to his ass.

“Ohhh…” Jesus moans as the burning stretch slowly subsides and Daryl leans over him, arms on either side of his torso while he kisses him. Daryl stills so that the younger man can adjust, feet curling and gripping at the carpet as Paul twitches around his cock. He feels so entirely full and then some, the ache that goes all the way down to his bones, making him dizzy and warm. Daryl starts to roll his hips when Paul whines with need, not pulling out or pushing any further, simply letting the younger man feel the full girth of him. Jesus swallows down a moan and Daryl kisses him through it, grip tightening on Paul’s leg and thumb digging in just behind his knee. Jesus brings his hands to the hem of Daryl’s shirt and rucks it up so that he can feel his bare torso against his own body. His fingertips play over the short, greying hairs on Daryl’s chest, scraping gently at the flushed skin. Daryl groans as he starts to thrust.

The whole world is practically spinning when Daryl finally pulls out until just the head of his cock is pressed inside. He thrusts forward shallowly, pulling back and then sinking all the way back in. Jesus moans and runs his thumbs over Daryl’s nipples, dragging a surprised shiver from his larger lover as he starts to pick up his pace. Jesus squeezes his eyes shut as he allows himself to get lost in the feeling. His own cock is fully hard again and with every thrust Daryl’s toned stomach is grinding against it, trapping it between Daryl’s body and his own. He used to be surprised that he could go so many rounds with the older man. That Daryl has such control over his body seemingly involuntarily. Now, feeling Daryl’s cock pressing so firmly against his prostate and his arms grasping protectively at his body, he’s not surprised at all that he’s more than willing to spend all day in bed with him.

Daryl starts to suck on his tongue and Jesus can feel the tingle of arousal it causes all the way down to his toes, which are flexing and curling as Daryl brings him closer and closer to a second release. Daryl speeds up and Jesus pushes his whole body down to meet him, thighs shaking as he starts to convulse around Daryl’s cock. Daryl snarls and his movements start to falter, though he keeps true to his target, slamming into Paul’s prostate with brutal intensity.

“Daryl! C-coming-” Paul warns the larger man and it’s hardly another minute before such actions ring true. His cock pulses between them as he paints their abdomens milky white with his release. Daryl follows just seconds behind him, filling him with thick streams of come until it’s dribbling out around his prick. The kiss continues, devolving into something desperate and messy, more the urgent press of lips on lips rather than a tactical kiss. Daryl curses in the same breath that he’s groaning Paul’s name until he’s completely emptied into the younger man.

They come down slowly. Daryl drops onto the bed and he shifts Paul to lay next to him. Paul grins lazily and Daryl snorts as he looks at him, sated and sex-drunk. Jesus rolls slightly so that he’s curled up against Daryl’s side, arm slung over and fingers tracing over his opposing side. The smaller man starts to hum happy birthday, and Daryl nuzzles sweetly at the top of his head. Jesus keeps kissing whatever skin he can reach and Daryl pulls the younger man into a lazy hug as he closes his eyes, enjoying the first good birthday he’s ever had.


End file.
